Burn me with fire, drown me with rain
by LizzieOktambe
Summary: They grew up together, that's something we all know by now. Everyone uses their own imagination to come up with the idea of how it happened. This is my take on the "growing back together" part of the story. Evelrark! Part 1 Katniss' POW, Part 2 Peeta's POW. Rated T to be safe. Love and fluff alert! The title borrowed from the lyrics of Christina Aguilera's song- We remain. ENJOY
1. Part I: Katniss

**|AN|:** There is one thing that every true THG, everlark, fanfiction-writing fan has to do at least once. That one thing is to write a "growing back together" story. Well, I consider myself a THG fan (DUH!), an everlark freak (Do you even have to ask?) and a fanfiction writer (Weeeeell... A poor one but still!). Seems I'm just doomed to write the "growing back together" fic. It's not my best story, but I've just had a chat with the Katniss and Peeta that live in my head and they wanted it to turn like this. And who am I to argue with them?

So here you have part 1, Katniss' POW. I like that Katniss of mine. She's not exactly the same Katniss that we got to meet in the books, but I do believe she was greatly changed by the revolution, Prim's death and what happened to Peeta. She's a different woman now, and she wants to tell you a bit about herself.

As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated. There's nothing more important to a writer, even a poor one, than to hear (read) what people think about their work. So please, if you feel like it, fav, subscribe and review!  
Sorry for the grammar!

 **Burn me with fire, drown me with rain.**

 **Part I: Katniss**

I wake up covered in cold sweat and hot tears, panting for breath in panic. I've had that nightmare a couple of times already and it always goes the same way.

 _I am laying in a grave, deep under the ground, the hole smelling of blood, white roses, dirt and my own sweat. I'm unable to make a sound, I can't scream or cry out. I'm more mute then an Avox._

 _They are there too. All of the people for whose deaths I consider myself being responsible- Finnick, Boggs, Rue, Madge, Cato, Marvel, Cinna, Prim. Hundreds of others- faces that I recognize form 12 but can't remember their names, or the children that died in front of Snow's mansion when all of the parachutes blew up. Everything, my fault. No wonder, that in the dream, that horrible, terrifying nightmare, they are all throwing shovel after shovel of dirt on me, screaming at me for letting them down. For killing them. I claw at the walls of the stinky ground surrounding me as they keep burying me alive.  
_ _I think that maybe I deserve it after all._

The noise doesn't stop when I wake up, though. How come I can still hear it? That haunting sound of a shovel hitting the dried ground over and over again. Maybe it's simply imprinted in my memory for good now? Maybe it's something that would haunt me for the rest of my miserable life as a constantly played horrifying song in my ears?

Reluctantly I open my heavy eyelids and notice, that the room is now filled with sunlight streaming from the open window. Greasy Sae had to be here earlier, she had to move the thick curtains aside and open it. I wouldn't bother to do something like that on my own.

I hear a clatter and the sound of shoveling stops abruptly. A couple of different noises sound through the window instead and I find myself uncharacteristically fascinated by them.

Maybe it's Haymitch?

No. I can't think of a thing he would willingly do with a shovel.

I force myself to get out of bed, something that I was avoiding doing since I came back to twelve. There is no point of getting up, really. For what?

I'm stuck in my own mind for months now, living in the memories of death and destruction.

Of my pure, innocent dead sister Prim. Consumed by the fire.

Of my pure, innocent dead ally and friend Rue. A spear burrowed in her chest.

Of my pure, innocent, lovely dead father. Buried alive hundreds of feet underground.

Of my pure, innocent, brave and oh so broken Peeta. Clouded eyes, shiny memories. Real or not real?

Of everything pure and innocent that seemed to be designed that way only to be destroyed in the end.

That's how the pathetic excuse of a life I have goes for weeks now. I lay on a bed like a vegetable or sit on the couch and stare at one spot, unmoving. Pictures are playing in my mind, showing me only the most horrible moments, only the worst images that I've seen in my life.

Dead bodies among the ruins of my beloved district. Body parts splayed out of the corpses and thrown across the burned ground of what used to be 12. Children on fire, never able to form a scream the moment they died. My name on Prim's lips right before her body caught on fire and blew into ashes. Finnick's head being ripped from his body, blood sipping from the rest of what was left of him. Johanna's bloodied head, shaved bold and covered in scars. Peeta's thin silhouette, his beaten up hollow cheeks, his bruised hands closing around my throat with unbelievable force…

I haven't killed myself. Not yet.

I believe I have to suffer first to redeem my wrongs. Or maybe I simply don't have enough guts to do so. Or maybe I don't want Peeta to have the imprint of my teeth on the back of his hand for nothing.

" _Let me go!"_

" _I can't."_

I'm a fire mutt, I don't deserve death.

That's what I believe is the obvious.

In a haze I make my way to the window, the light blinding my sleepy eyes as I go. I need to find the source of that agonizing sound.

My heart stops when I hesitantly poke my head out. For a second all I can see is a dark silhouette, as my eyes are trying to adjust to the brightness. Even seeing only the dark shape of his figure I can tell who he is. I would recognize that beautiful silhouette anywhere.

My vision clears a second later and I see the blonde hair shining in the noon light, the pale skin that seems to glow like a marble. Little beads of sweat are covering it's not-so-smooth-anymore texture and firm muscles are flexing under an orange t-shirt. Five o'clock shadow covers his cheeks, now fuller than the last time I saw him. Peeta.

He's home.

I don't even register what's happening, but suddenly I find myself opening the front door as I flee outside without a thought.

The next thing I know, I'm standing directly in front of him at loss of what to say, what to do.

He startles slightly, stopping whatever he was doing and for the first time in months his eyes find mine. I feel a strong tug on my heart when I see that the color of his irises it the same blue I remember looking at me with concern when I was leaving him under the lightning tree. I look at him and see Peeta. My Peeta.

"Katniss…" He says my name gently as if afraid I would run away the moment he acknowledges my presence. Well, he's not so wrong to be honest, that's exactly what I would normally do. For some reason though, I don't have neither the will nor the energy to move from the spot.

"You're back." I state quietly and notice my voice is hoarse and trembling from the lack of talking. It sounds strange, almost alien. He nods slowly at that and I see him taking me in with a slight frown and concern in his eyes. That's when I realize I have to look positively horrible. My hair tangled and matted, clothes baggy and far from fresh and my skin- dry, pale and covered with scars. I bet I look like death itself.

"Doctor Aurelius only let me leave yesterday morning. I took the first train and… I'm here." I nod at that, trying to force something resembling a smile out of myself, but my muscles are so stiff that I seem to be unable to show any kind of expression. "He asked me to tell you to answer your phone. He said he can't pretend he's treating you forever." He adds, but I decide to ignore it and look at what he was doing before I startled him with my presence.

That's when I notice the green bushes at his feet. They are covered with multiple purple flowers.

"I was in the woods in the morning and dug them out. Thought I would plant them here. For her." He says calmly. Primroses. He wants to plant them, for my sister. For my little Prim.

I feel the tears before I'm aware that I'm actually crying and I lock my eyes with his for a moment. I see his Adam's apple bob slowly up and down as he tries to keep his own tears at bay. He brings his hand slowly towards me, but retreats it before even reaching me. He's afraid to touch me, I can tell. I don't blame him for it. I take in his face slowly and see his forehead is covered in sweat, his cheeks reddish from the heat. I flee back home before he has a chance to say a word.

I bolt into the kitchen and reach to the cabinet for a clean glass. I'm not even thinking what am I doing as I fill it with cold water and rush out again. I reach him in express time, handing him the glass without a word. He seems baffled but takes the glass and drinks the water down in few gulps.

"Thank you." We say at the same time and I have a strange urge to smile at him, especially as I see the corners of his lips twitch upward a little bit. We gaze into each other eyes for some time and I have a sudden need to go home, clean the stinking white roses form the study that I've been terrified to go into since I came back, open the windows, take a shower… Stop being like my mother.

I'm bewildered by my own thoughts but then as I think about it, still looking into Peeta's beautiful blue eyes, I know that it's him. I know that I was waiting for his return, because he's the only thing on this hell hole of a world that can make me at least try to get on with my life.

"I have to… sorry, I've got something to do…" I say quickly and break into a run towards my house leaving him watching me go, an empty glass still in his hand.

* * *

Half an hour later I'm sitting on my heels in front of the fire place, swaying back and forth while watching Snow's white roses turn into ashes in front of my eyes. I can still smell the stench even despite the fact that all of the windows in my house are wide open. There's only fire left now, only a little pile of grayish ash remains after the roses, but it's still burning brightly fed by two simple logs that I put together to start it. I know it would die soon if I don't throw more wood into it and my clouded brain is making strange parallels without my permission.

The fire has burned the roses again.

I can't help but see the vicious smile on Snow's face as I think about them, but I know that he's dead now. He's not here.

I am.

Peeta is.

I think of all the time I've spend in bed or on the couch during the last couple of weeks and I can't help comparing myself to those slowly dying flames.

Then I think of Peeta, of the moment when I saw him for the first time in weeks today. Of the feeling of need for taking the matters into my own hands and for… catharsis, or however it is called.

Maybe Peeta is like the logs feeding the flames. Maybe he's the one who can somehow keep me more alive than anything ever would.

When I'd thrown the roses into the fire it immediately flared and expanded dangerously, but quickly after that, there was nothing left of the roses but ashes and if it wasn't for the logs, it won't keep burning with a slow steady flames. It would simply die. The fire caused by the roses was violent, dangerous and untamed. This one though, kept alive by the logs- warm, bright and beautiful. It makes me feel calm and safe.

It makes me feel exactly like Peeta does.

With that thought, despite the warmth of the evening, I throw a few more logs into the fireplace and rush up to take the first shower in days knowing that when I come back wet and tired, the flames will be there to lull me to sleep.

* * *

The next morning I wake up to the sound of pans and pots clattering in the kitchen and I immediately know that I fell asleep on the couch. I open my eyes slowly and am graced with the sight of the fire still burning in the fireplace. It's strange, it should be burned out by now as the last time I've thrown some logs into it was at the early hours of the morning before I fell asleep. I assume it's Sae who, decided to keep the flames burning but I can't see the reason why she did it. It was not necessary and Sae is one of those people who doesn't do things simply because.

As I stir, I realize that I'm pleasantly warm, covered by a blanket. Sae again? I ask myself while snuggling deeper into the cover and breathing it in. For some unknown reason it bears a sweet, cinnamon scent that makes me think of…

"I'll check if she's awake. It would be a pity to let the eggs get cold."

Peeta? My eyes snap open and I stiffen under the blanket. He's here? In my house?

Everything comes back to me in a rush and everything also starts to gain sense.

The fire, the blanket, the smell… even the dreamless sleep.

"I'm awake." I mumble as I see his shadow on the floor beside the couch. I didn't look up yet so I can't see his face, but I'm almost sure he smiles.  
He proves me right when I look at him through half-closed lids. His smile does something to my insides and I sit up startled when my feelings start to take over my brain.

"Hey." I say quietly untangling myself from the blanket. "Thanks for-" I gesture wildly towards the cover, then the fire, "-keeping me warm." His smile widens for a brief moment and I see one of his perfect eyebrows rise up.

"How do you know it was me who did that?" He asks with a hint of tease in his voice and I feel a blush creeping onto my cheeks. I hesitate before answering, but decide that I'm not going to shy away from him.

Not from him. Not anymore.

"It smells like cinnamon rolls." I reply in a whisper and he grins so widely I'm afraid his mouth will split in half. I can't believe how positive he is. I can't believe how on earth he is able to cope with everything and still behave like the old Peeta from before the hijacking. I wonder how much of the venom still lingers in his veins and what he has to go through because of it. What visions does he have to fight every minute of his life. I decide I want to answer that call from doctor Aurelius if only to find out just that.

We eat in complete silence, but I don't mind. I've spend enough time with Peeta saying nothing at all and even after all this time, I don't feel awkward doing just that. Somehow, deep in my heart I know that it's the same Peeta. It's the Peeta I knew before the war. It's the Peeta that maybe, just maybe will be able to love me someday. Because I love him, more than I can bare sometimes.

I straighten up as I realize what exactly I just figured out. After all this time of denying my feelings for this boy, now when I sit across from him after everything, I am able to admit to myself that I'm in love with him. I'm in love with him!

Instead of terrifying me to the bone, that thought makes me surprisingly calm and serene. I catch myself throwing a small smile Peeta's way. He looks at me strangely for a moment, furrows his brows in confusion and returns my smile hesitantly. Warmth spreads in my chest like a liquid fire and I know that I'm a goner.

It's Peeta. It has always been Peeta. It will always be Peeta.

I think about all the time that he loved me and was simply there for me while I treated him so horribly. I broke his heart multiple times. No, not on purpose but simply by being me, by being pigheaded and careless of his feelings. And he stayed with me all this time anyway. He was there for me every step of the way. He remained by my side until he was violently ripped away from me and tortured to the point of believing that he hates me because I'm a threat to his life.

So now, when I see him looking like all those horrible things never happened, I know that it's only because he's the strongest person I've ever known, that he was able to find himself again. I know that no matter how good he seems to look and how much like himself he is behaving right now, he is certainly not okay yet. I know him well enough to notice the signs. The dark shadows under his eyes, telling me that he's not sleeping well at night, the occasional rigidness of his body and emptiness of his stare, letting me know when he's fighting his demons, the slight but constant shaking of his hands, the little twitch in his jaw, at any louder noise. He isn't fully recovered and I'm fully aware that he might never be. I don't think any of us will.

As I think about all of it, I decide that it's my turn to be there for him because he's done enough for me to last a lifetime and everything I've ever done for him, turned out to be a disaster. I'm going to change that now. I'm going to take care of him and maybe, just maybe, my love for him will give him strength, and make him feel better like his always did for me.

* * *

THE END OF PART 1

* * *

 **|AN2|** : Thanks for reading! I think you know who's narrating Part 2 :) So, what are you waiting for? Read it!


	2. Part II: Peeta

**Burn me with fire, drown me with rain.**

 **Part II: Peeta**

My first episode while being in twelve, happens exactly one week after my return. I'm baking cheese buns for Katniss in her house and when the first wave of flashbacks hits me, I tighten my grip on the bottle with milk so hard, it shatters into pieces in my grip. It startles Katniss form her spot at the kitchen table, but before she manages to approach me, I yell at her to go away, stay back, leave the house. She takes ten steps backwards and curls into a ball against the wall whimpering the Valley Song and leaning back and forward, back and forward, until I'm back, weakly calling her name.

She is at my side in less than a second, taking my hands in hers and picking the pieces of glass from the wounds. Only when they're wrapped in bandages and taken care of, we sit together at the couch in her living room and she speaks.

"I'm sorry." She says in barely above a whisper and I look at her not knowing if I've heard her right.

"You are sorry? It was me who nearly ruined your kitchen while trying to stop myself from strangling you." I answer bewildered. She sighs at looks at me in sadness.

"You could bleed to death and I was too much of a coward to approach you and stop the bleeding." She explains, taking one of my bandaged hands in hers and laying it on her lap.

"Katniss…" I whisper, trying hard to entwine our fingers together. "You're not a coward by trying to protect yourself from getting hurt." I try to reason with her. "It's better that you didn't come to me or I could've hurt you. I don't want to hurt you Katniss. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did it again." She looks like she wants to say something but can't quite find the right words. "And… the singing helped a lot."

* * *

For a couple of following weeks I have to fight my confusion more than usually and, without a single complain, she answers every "real or not real" question I have.

Some of them are simple, like the one I had been so desperate to find an answer for, that I run to her house long after I left for the night. She opens the door with hair still damp from the shower and confusion written all over her face.

"My favorite pastry are cinnamon rolls, real or not real?" I pant, leaning on the doorframe. She smiles at the question, or maybe more at the answer, and ushers me inside.

"Real. You can eat the whole batch of them without even noticing." She replies with a grin. I'm excited to see her smile. "My favorite are cheese buns, but I won't say no to a cinnamon roll, you know?" She adds and I laugh a little at the insinuation.

We end up baking cinnamon rolls together in the middle of the night.

* * *

Some of the questions are hard for me. Like when I sit at her couch one afternoon and doodle mindlessly on a piece of paper while she cleans the squirrels she caught that morning in the woods. Buttercup jumps on the table and starts rubbing his head against my arm. He always liked me better than he likes Katniss and she wheezes at me every time I try to spoil that cat. She has no idea she and the cat are making exactly those same noises while angry.

"When I was seven I found a dog in our back yard. I named him Carmel and kept him secret from my mother for four weeks, real or not real?"

I look at the confusion in her eyes, and her desperate attempts to find anything in her memories, that would let her give me an answer, but I already know she won't find it. She looks sad when she tells me she can't answer that question.

I go crazy.

Literally. I can't help it, and I only hope she doesn't think I'm mad at her. I just need the answer. Desperately. She tries to calm me down as I struggle to catch my breath and feel myself slipping from reality, so she leaves and I'm confused between being grateful, that she- for once- thought about her own safety and left the house, and being concerned that I really scared her off for good.

What I don't know, is that she runs all the way across of what remains of our district and when she comes back, it's with Delly Cartwright in tow and tons of new answers.

"Real." Is the first thing Katniss pants out, when she bursts through the door and into her living room where I sit, still slightly crazied, but a little bit calmer.

* * *

Other questions are very hard for her, and it pains me that I have to ask them, but I do. I have to, if I want to go back to being myself.  
Like the one I ask her when she teaches me how to braid her hair, after I begged her for it for about three days. She thought it's ridiculous, because she doesn't need anybody to do it for her, but I know she changed her mind when I run my hands through her hair and see her relaxed expression anda little smile gracing her lips.

I don't intend to ruin the moment. The question just slips from my mouth before I'm able to stop it.

"Your dad had dark hair too, real or not real?" I see and feel her stiffen on the floor, where she sits in front of the couch where I'm seated, her back against my legs. I drop my hands from her hair onto her rigid shoulders, but when I open my mouth to apologize, I hear her answer in a whisper.

"Real." I rub her shoulders gently and she relaxes a bit under my touch, but I know she's still upset. I don't have to see her face to know that.

"I'm sorry." I whisper and I feel her shake her head as if trying to tell me I don't need to be sorry for asking her question. She doesn't speak, but only when I feel her arms jerk up a couple of times I know why. She's crying.

In a second, I'm on the floor beside her and she looks away to hide her tears. I'm not going to let her hide her emotions.

Not from me. Not anymore.

Using only a bit of force, I turn her body towards mine and wrap my arms tightly around her shaking frame. It's probably the first real physical affection we've shared since I returned to 12 and it feels like I'm drawing strength from that embrace. She has no idea how much she still means to me. She has no idea how much she does for me without even realizing.

"I'm sorry." I repeat into her hair. "I just couldn't quite remember how he looked like." I add and she looks at me with those huge, gray eyes. She looks heartbreakingly sad, but explains- in all details- her father's looks. I listen, picturing him in my head, but I still can't see it as I should. It unsettles me a little, but maybe I just didn't remember him so well in the first place. I was still a kid when he died, and we weren't seeing him so often before either. She notices that I'm still confused and she grabs my hand and drags me upstairs to the bedroom that used to be her mother's. I watch her movements with interest as she pulls out a drawer from a wooden commode and places it on a bed beside me. She starts to look through the papers and suddenly, her movements stop as she pulls a black-and-white photograph from between two sheets of paper.

The moment I see his face on the photo, memories start to pop into my head as if she broke a wall in my head by showing it to me. I remember him waiting for her in front of our school when we were little. I remember him passing me and my father on a street, nodding his head in acknowledgement. I remember him returning from the mines with others, covered in coal dust and sweat. Dark brown hair, big grey eyes.

She looks like him, only prettier.

She breaks up into pieces and cries herself to sleep that night.

I leave her in her mother's bed.

The next morning the idea of the memory book is born.

* * *

One of the most emotional questions, I ask one day after I almost freak myself out to death. She leaves in the morning to go hunting like she does nearly every day. I'm outside hanging my laundry and I see her passing my house. I wave to her hesitantly. She waves back. I'm a baker, she's a hunter so neither of us is surprised that we've already started our days at six in the morning. I start to get worried when it's noon and she's still not back from the woods. Dark clouds are hanging low in the sky and I know, I just can feel it in my inexistent leg, that it's about to rain and it won't be a drizzle.

The storm starts half past twelve and by the time it's in full blow I'm already greatly freaked out. I do the only thing I can think of and I bang against Haymitch's door till he stumbles out half drunk and half asleep. I swear the moment he sees my panicked face, he's completely sober. I choke on the words as I try to explain to him that Katniss is in the woods in this hell on earth. He curses under his breath and orders me to stay put while he runs into the city to organize a searching party. He grabs me by my shirt and threatens he's going to kill me if I go alone into the woods and get lost too.

It's not even five minutes since he left and I know that I can't stay safely in Haymitch's house, while Katniss is out there, maybe lost, maybe hurt, maybe…

I grab one of Haymitch's coats and run outside throwing the hood over my head. I won't go into the woods. Haymitch is right, I will only get lost and cause even more trouble. I plan on waiting in the meadow for the searching party to arrive, but the moment I get close to what remains of the fence, I see a dark figure stumbling from tree to tree, barely managing to stay on their feet. If I wouldn't already know it has to be Katniss, I would have guessed from the bow, hanging limply from her shoulder. I scream her name and in a few long strides I'm by her side.

"Peeta?" She asks weakly, stumbles and falls forward straight into my arms. I catch her with ease, she's petite and light as a feather.

"It's me. It's okay, you're safe." I say, not sure if I'm trying to calm her or myself as I take off Haymitch's coat and wrap her shivering form tightly in it. I notice she's not only soaked through, but pretty banged up as well and I want to ask her what happened, but instead scoop her up into my arms to carry her to safety as fast as I'm able too. She whimpers when I do so, and I'm pretty sure I hurt her by touching some sore spot. "It's okay Katniss, just don't fall asleep. We're gonna be home soon, I promise." I tell her, hoping she can hear me through the howling wind. I feel her snuggle closer to my chest and it feels good to know she does it because it makes her feel safer, better, warmer. I hear shouts and male voices when we're about to leave the meadow and I holler Haymitch's name. I need to let them know that she's here, that I've found her. She startles at my loud yell and I make shushing noises and cradle her tighter against my chest and she relaxes for a moment. Haymitch appears at my side shouting questions and profanities at me for leaving his house. I don't even know how but I finally reach my house and stumble through the door and up the stairs in a record time.

Only later when she's dry, checked by the doctor for injuries and safe in my bed, we find out what actually happened. She was forced to run from a pack of wolves and ended up climbing a tree and being stuck on it for a good couple of hours. She fell off of it when she tried to get down because the branches were already so wet, she slipped and ended up falling a few feet down and hitting the ground.

Of course she caught a nasty cold to top it and of course I decide to stay by her side all night, trying to help her through her coughing fits.

It's when she is laying between my sheets, looking so small, fragile and beautiful, that I ask her the question.

"You've never wanted to kill me, real or not real _?"_ I don't expect her to answer, because I'm sure she is asleep, but it appears she's hovering at the edge of consciousness as she mumbles to me.

"Real."

Despite the fact that, in theory, I knew the answer to that question, I feel like a giant weight was lifted from my heart at her words, so I caress her delicate cheek as gently as I can, trying to put her back into the state of oblivion. "I've never wanted to kill you. I would never be able to do so and live with myself afterwards." She adds, right before falling asleep.

* * *

She stays at my house for the entire time she's sick. At the beginning I sit on a chair watching her struggle with a fever at night, but after some time, when she starts to feel slightly better, she invites me to sleep with her, saying that it's ridiculous that I'm sleeping on a chair while she sleeps in my enormous bed alone. So it stays like that until she's good enough to get out of bed and I am pleasantly surprised to find out that I've barely ever dreamed and only once had a nightmare while sleeping with her. She reminds me it was the same during the Victory Tour and before the Quell.

I hesitantly ask her to stay with me, at my house, in my bed. She doesn't respond verbally, but takes off, making me think I fucked everything up, only to return fifteen minutes later with a packed duffle bag.

It's that night in my bed, our bed, when she hesitantly snuggles to my side and I ask her a question that has been bothering me for a long time. Asking it brings a blush to my face.

"We've never done anything more than sleeping in the same bed. I wanted to, you didn't. Real or not real?"

Her head snaps up to look at me and apparently it makes her blush even more to answer the question than it made me to ask it. I watch with amazement as she struggles to form an answer.

"Partially real." She replies and I feel a shiver run through me at the thought that something might have happened between the two of us and I don't even remember it.

"What?" I choke and she gets even redder.

"We've never done anything more than sleeping in the same bed…" She replies and the relief floods me, because if something is to happen between Katniss and I, I want to remember every single second of it. "You wanted to, I might have wanted once or twice as well."

My body freezes but my mind runs with a crazy pace as I can't stop staring at her for about fifteen minutes.  
She, on the other hand, can't look at me without blushing for a whole week.

Yet, she always answers every single question I ask her. Even those two, most important ones that finally define her feelings for me, the ones I ask three weeks after we started to practically live with each other.

* * *

It happens at night, when she wakes up from a nightmare and seeks comfort in my arms, through my lips and my body. We start something we've never did before, when she sneaks her tiny hands under my t-shirt and down to the waistband of my pajama bottoms. It's an raging inferno between us, but I have to make sure she knows what she's doing. I use the only thing I can think of to find out for sure, I play the game we came up with during the worst of times.

"Katniss. You want me, real or not real?"

"Real." She gasps against my lips and burrows her hands in my hair. "Real." She repeats just before claiming my lips again.

We're completely lost in each other for the first time in our lives. Hot kisses, cold feet, roaming hands and awkward movements, but then, probably the most beautiful sight that can be seen, probably the most wonderful feeling that exists.

So, in the morning, when I realize that despite my worries, she didn't run away after realizing what happened at night, but lays sprawled across my chest running her fingers up and down my arm, I don't hesitate to ask her the question that I crave the answer to more than anything in the world.

"You love me, real or not real?"

The movement of her hand stops abruptly, she tenses a little in my embrace and lifts herself on her elbows to look at me properly.

I swear she looks more beautiful than ever when she looks me in the eye, caresses my cheek, kisses my lips lightly and answers as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

"Real."

* * *

THE END

* * *

 **|AN|:** Of course Peeta is more eloquent than his beloved :D

Remember, feedback means the world to me!

 **Disclaimer:** Everything that you recognize belongs to the one and only Suzanne Collins.


End file.
